


Sore Loser

by eastcoastlighthouse



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Belting, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Jerry is briefly there to show that he's a failure at baking, M/M, Seasonal!, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-10-11 19:28:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10472412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eastcoastlighthouse/pseuds/eastcoastlighthouse
Summary: It's Christmas in the Smith household and Morty might be getting a little too mouthy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2016 RnM Secret Santa for Tumblr user cronicminecrafter (whose blog seems to have disappeared since). Uploading here to keep all my filth in one place.

“Y-you, you – you little weasel, I’ll, I’m gonna _whoop_ your ass!”

“You’ll – you’ll have to catch me first, Rick!”

Jerry walked into the living room, carrying a plate full of questionably-shaped sugar cookies. “What’s going on here?” he asked, ready to mediate (or, which was more likely: escalate) the situation. His son didn’t look away from the TV (where he was, indeed, currently kicking Rick’s ass at Mario Kart), but Rick turned around and dismissively waved Jerry away with his controller.

“Oh, _nothing,_ Jer – y-you’ve just raised a, a _cheater_ is all.” He glanced at Morty, who was sporting a smarmy smirk. “Yeah, laugh it up. Y-you’ve got a storm coming.”

Morty didn’t look away from the screen and proceeded to cross the finish line in first place. He sat back, grabbed a cookie off of the plate, and bit into it with a challenging look at Rick. “T-told you you had to catch me first, Rick,” he said.

“It’s the holidays,” Jerry mumbled. “Would it kill you two to show each other some courtesy? Actually, forget about showing _each other_ some courtesy – how about you take the rest of us into account, huh? It’s the season for giving and all that.”

“Oh, I’m doing just that,” Rick said darkly.

Jerry looked from Morty to Rick, feeling once again like he was trespassing in his own house. “Well, just keep it down. Beth’s bound to come home soon and I’m expecting your sister any moment, too. I’ll just run out and get some more food coloring.”

This got Morty’s attention. “Uh – w-why?”

Jerry looked down at the plate. “You see, they’re meant to be Christmas trees, but they look more like, um–-”

“Like dicks,” Rick helpfully suggested.

“I was going to say rocket ships,” Jerry huffed. “So I’m going to buy some green food coloring. Why – d’you want to come?”

Morty nodded, but Rick put a possessive hand on his arm. “Sorry, Jer,” he said. “You know Morty’s my – my little helper. He’s, he’s – we’ve got some business to take care of.”

And with a shrug and a “Suit yourself,” Morty’s last remaining lifeline left.

The moment the front door slammed shut, the atmosphere turned frosty. “Now about that shit you just pulled.”

Morty instantly turned defensive. “I-it’s called slipstreaming, Rick – and, and it’s not _cheating,_ it’s just strategy. Y-y-you could do it too.” He got up. “I guess I’ll – I’ll see if I can clean up the kitchen,” and for one beautiful moment it almost seemed as if Rick would let him go.

“Get over my lap, Morty,” Rick said, his voice dangerously level. It was only when Rick lost his trademark burping and stammering that Morty knew he had to start watching his tone, and he wisely refrained from making any smartass remarks, instead hurrying over to the sofa and lying down as instructed.

Rick shoved him off of his lap. “You think you’re wearing pants for this?” He barked out a laugh and pulled Morty to stand between his legs before roughly undoing the button and pulling down his jeans. Morty knew better than to protest, but balled his fists in helpless frustration anyway. Before he knew it, Rick had tugged him over his lap once more, and in nothing but his white briefs he felt a lot more exposed than he liked. “Rrrriiiick,” he whined in one final attempt to mollify his grandfather, “go-go-go easy on me, okay?”

“Absolutely not,” was Rick’s disheartening response, and then Morty found it very difficult to articulate any further thoughts. Rick was clearly skipping the warm-up, and judging by the viciousness of his smacks he was making no attempt to go easy on Morty. With his fingers spread out every swat seared itself into Morty’s skin, and the cotton of his briefs provided absolutely no protection against Rick’s hard, calloused hand.

Morty took his punishment graciously for roughly thirty seconds before he was clawing at the sofa cushions and kicking his legs. “Rick, no – no, c’mon, Rick, _please,_ please!”

“What – what was all that about me having to catch you first, huh?” Rick said, one particularly nasty smack setting the thin, sensitive skin where Morty’s ass met his thigh on fire.

“Oww – owww, _c’mon,_ Rick! Y-y-y- _yoowwww,_ y-you’re just a sore loser. I beat you – ah, _Rick!_ I beat you fair and square!”

“You sure did,” Rick said, taking a moment to focus his effort on Morty’s sit spots, every wallop packing more force than the one before it, roasting Morty’s poor backside seemingly effortlessly, “and now I’m repaying the favor. Beating y _eeeughhh_ ou fair and square.”

Morty groaned, but was soon distracted by Rick’s long fingers hooking behind the elastic of his briefs to unceremoniously pull them down. “Rick, noooo!”

“Come off it,” Rick sighed, delivering yet another scorching swat. “If-if you’re gonna be a tough guy during Mario Kart, you’re gonna have to be a tough guy afterwards.”

It wasn’t so much that his underwear had saved his ass from the brunt of the punishment, but as always Rick’s palm hurt all the more on bare skin. Maybe it was just the humiliation of being treated like a little kid by his grandfather, and Morty writhed around, desperate to put an end to his torment and soon. Rick, however, clearly meant business – he spread his legs, deposited Morty over one leg and locked him in place with the other before grabbing his grandson’s wrists and pinning them against the small of his back. Immobilized, Morty now realized he was really in for it. Rick wasn’t just playing around – this was an actual punishment, and Morty had about three seconds to let the gravity of his situation sink in before he became keenly aware Rick actually _had_ been going easy on him before.

Scorching swat followed scorching swat, the sound of a rough palm smacking against skin loud in the living room. Morty was determined to show Rick just how tough he could be but before long every other smack tore a whimper from him, and then a wail, and then he was weeping. “R-rriiiiick,” he hiccupped, but to no avail – his grandfather was stoic and stony-faced, and continued his relentless barrage of whacks and swats undeterred. Every new blistering strike seemed to pack enough of a punch to be the grand finale, but every time Morty was dismayed to find his grandfather seemed to have no plans to let up anytime soon. “Dad’ll be home soo-hoo-hoon,” he cried out, “and-and – _pleeeaaase, please_ and _Mom,_ and whuh-whuh-what about _Summer?”_ That last thought was especially mortifying, and Morty clenched and unclenched his hands uselessly, his wrists still restrained by Rick.

“That’d really suck for you,” Rick said. “Almost as much as it sucked for me to have to watch your bony ass overtake me in the last lap.” He paused briefly, but didn’t even grant Morty the small mercy of rubbing his cherry red butt. “Guess we better make sure we’re done before they get back.”

Morty – foolishly – took this to mean that his torment was coming to an end when he was yanked up by his arm and dragged to the corner, hobbling with his pants around his ankles. Cornertime was boring, but not too bad – he could deal with _that._ It was then that he heard the familiar sound of a belt being pulled through its loops, and attempted to whip around before Rick could whip _him._ He was promptly shoved nose-first into the corner and held there by Rick’s strong hand.

“Stay in position or I’m belting you in front of your parents,” Rick hissed, and that certainly killed any rebellion in Morty dead on the spot. Trembling, he put his hands on the wall, and waited for the belt to come down, red-faced and teary.

And come down it did – Rick was untiring as per usual, and his folded belt was all the more horrible on Morty’s already red-hot backside. Hopping from one leg to the other, Morty attempted to distract himself, and found his spanking dance fruitless as usual. Any qualms he’d had a few minutes ago about putting on a brave face were well and truly squashed and tears and snot ran down his face freely as Rick continued to wallop his ass to a state of total destruction.

Right when Morty felt his knees buckle, he heard the clink of a belt buckle hitting the ground, and then he was whirled around. Rick, for all the effort he’d expended to destroy Morty’s backside, seemed remarkably unaffected. He looked down sternly at his grandson, his hands on his shoulders.

“Cuh-huh-can I rub?” Morty asked, sobbing.

“When I’m done,” Rick shook his head. “What did we – what did you learn, Morty?”

“I-I-I learned that yuh-you’re crap at-at Mario Kart, and that-that that’s _my_ fault, apparently,” Morty said, more daring now that it seemed his punishment was done. Still, the subsequent look on Rick’s face put a sudden stop to his snivelling.

Rick was quiet for a moment, and then smirked. “That’s exactly right, you little douche. And next time you find out about some new trick you better tell me. ‘Tis the season for giving, didn’t you hear?”

That prompted a teary laugh despite Morty’s burning ass, and a sigh when he was pulled against his grandfather’s chest where he finally, finally got to soothe his sore butt.

“Now go and – _eeuughhh_ – clean yourself up before your parents come home.” Rick gave Morty a little push, and Morty was halfway out of the living room when he turned around.

“I-I thought you promised me my next spanking would be a fun one,” he said.

“Y-you sure your mouth wants to write that particular check for your butt to cash?” Rick laughed. “You can get your present tonight.”

Morty thought for a moment, his fingers creeping down to touch his burning behind. “Maybe – maybe we can make it a, a new year’s resolution.”

“Why the hell not?” Rick said magnanimously. “Season for giving, right?”


End file.
